"Sir Cecil is no more. We’ll go to the shops. “It’s a way of avoiding explanations. Of course a little daughter is a delightful thing enough. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Just go about with him. ‘Precisely. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. But never mind that. “So you still think of me as husband, even though we have long since tired of each other. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly.
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